


Law Abiding Believer

by graywhatsit



Series: LAB Verse [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Maybe Magic Maybe Mundane, Pining, Supernatural!Shane - Freeform, Suspicious!Ryan, Three plus One, because i like that trope apparently, i'm running on fae rules here, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 08:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywhatsit/pseuds/graywhatsit
Summary: "Shane’s an awesome guy, and he’s glad to spend time with him, whether for work or not.Now, after working with Shane for, well,years, Ryan is 100% certain that Shane is, in fact, not a human being.Well. 95% certain, anyway. It’s not like he can just go up to Shane, casually, bring him a coffee and say, “Hey, man, I gotta ask: what thefuckare you?”"------------------------Three times Ryan breaks the Fae rules inadvertently, and one time he is very aware of it.





	Law Abiding Believer

**Author's Note:**

> because i like me some paranormal and mysterious shane, and i live for the rules of trickster spirits, demons, and the fae
> 
> will i ever write something requited? wouldn't you like to know
> 
> not beta read at all
> 
> and this story went through like thirty different iterations so be glad you're getting it at all bc i was about ready to yeet this fucker into the pit of abandoned fics

Ryan Bergara likes to think of himself as— well, maybe _expert_ isn’t the right word, but he knows paranormal stuff. He likes the supernatural, the unexplainable, the mystery and _otherness_ that myth and legend always produce.

If he ever meets anything, if something triggers his ‘this is absolutely paranormal and capital B Bad’ sense, he has a solid rulebook for how to deal with it. There are rules to it all, a weird logic, something every skeptic he’s ever met has disregarded. Why would there be such concrete rules translated across so many different cultures if there wasn’t some grain of truth? _That’s_ what doesn’t make sense.

He doesn’t believe in all of it, of course; as real as spirits and other ghostly entities definitely are, werewolves, vampires, witches? Nah.

But it’s interesting, and however much he dismisses them, he reads. Even if it’s bullshit, it’s good film fodder, and he’s the biggest cinephile he knows.

He kept it as a hobby, just something to do, read when he was up late at night from his own anxiety or paranoia, through film school. Even when he started his internship at a place he’d never expected, it was always in the background.

That’s where he met Shane.

It’s great; maybe a bit of a slow start, but over time they became good friends. Good enough to hang out over the weekend, go on vacation-- with other people, too, of course. Shane’s an awesome guy, and he’s glad to spend time with him, whether for work or not.

Now, after working with Shane for, well, _years_ , Ryan is 100% certain that Shane is, in fact, not a human being.

Well. 95% certain, anyway. It’s not like he can just go up to Shane, casually, bring him a coffee and say, “Hey, man, I gotta ask: what the _fuck_ are you?”

Shane will laugh in his face and ask if he’s finally cracked, tell him he’s been reading too many ghost stories before bed. He’ll sit back all smug and sip at his drink, infuriatingly calm, while Ryan digs into everything he’s ever found that _proves_ it, and disregard everything with a single snarky remark.

He knows because he’s done it before; it’s basically their _entire show_.

Shane never believes, but Ryan _knows_ it’s true.

Why?

Shane’s proportions are all weird: a massive head no hat could ever hope to fit on a long, lanky body. He slouches heavily, and when he moves, it’s erratic, like his limbs are just doing whatever they feel like at the time.

Shane makes weird, morbid jokes-- granted, they do get a laugh out of Ryan, too, some of the time, when it isn’t a threat to lock him in somewhere haunted for the night-- and knows too much about obscure history; sometimes phrases things oddly, old-fashioned, something that can’t entirely be placed upon the weird energy always surrounding Chicagoans.

Shane puts ice in his milk, hates Nutella and fake cheese but likes them _together_ , can eat a one-and-a-half pound burger like it’s nothing at all. And he doesn’t even like pancakes? Come on.

Shane is probably the most fearless person Ryan’s ever met; he’ll eat whatever, he’ll try whatever, he’ll talk to anybody, and he’ll do it all in the same calm, logical way he always does. Except for being suddenly, unwillingly injected with drugs. And avocados, apparently.

 _Where does that come from_? Those aren’t fears real human beings have, at all. It’s not logical, reasonable fear. It’s too specific; when someone lies, they add in all kinds of unnecessary detail to their story. It feels like he made it up on the fly, something to get people off his back about just how reckless and cavalier he can be.

Speaking of, it’s one thing to be a skeptic. Ryan knows plenty of skeptics, and plenty of believers, and plenty of people who aren’t really sure about the whole concept of the paranormal. It’s fine. Kind of willfully blind, but fine. Shane’s brand of skepticism, though, is _beyond_ insufferable. He’s so disrespectful to the spirits, and downright insolent when it comes to demonically inhabited sites-- honestly, Ryan’s surprised he hasn’t gotten straight up murked by something yet, if not, at the very least, injured.

It’s like he knows nothing will ever hurt him, which is _bullshit_ , because Ryan’s seen things, and heard things.

It’s like he knows what’s there and isn’t even bothered.

It’s like he knows they only go after humans, and _he isn’t human_.

Ryan doesn’t think he’s a _demon_ ; that’d be ridiculous. He’s gone into churches with him, broken through salt circles and lines. Ryan’s even accidentally sprayed him with holy water in a scramble to get it out of his bag, and he wiped it off like it was nothing.

But he’s something.

Most people try to pass it off as Shane just being a strange guy. He has his quirks, but he’s friendly and hardworking, and BuzzFeed’s just full of equally strange people. It’s not a big deal.

But it _is_ a big deal, because if Shane’s something paranormal, or otherworldly, then there are entirely different rules to dealing with him. Supernatural beings are more than capable of getting you back, beyond the abilities of any human, if you break their rules.

He isn’t sure _what_ , exactly, Shane is, but Ryan has _definitely_ broken some of those rules, looking back over the years.

And he’s kind of freaking out about it.

 

* * *

 

  **1.** ** **Don’t give out your true name.****

 

Shane is a strange guy.

Ryan barely knows the man for two seconds when he determines that.

“Uh, hey.” Ryan gives a little half-wave, partly to get the guy already taking up half the desk to look at him, and partly because he has no idea what else to do with his hands. His guide is gone, he’s out of his depth, and feeling so awkward is new. He was in a _fraternity_ , for fucks’ sake! He was popular, friendly; he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t good at speaking.

Something’s throwing him off, though. There’s something in the air, either in the building or just in this spot, that’s leaving him off-kilter, like the world is just tilted wrong, and it’s just out of reach enough, unknowable enough, to annoy him on top of it.

It doesn’t look like the dude’s noticed him, because his eyes are still trained on the screen, absurdly long fingers tapping at keyboard shortcuts. Ryan’s about to reach out to him again when he slips off his headphones and turns in his chair, casual as you please.

Oh, yeah. He’s _weird_.

His features are strange: long aquiline nose, narrowed dark eyes, a face shape that can’t decide whether it wants to be round or angular. Even his body is long and lanky, but a little wide-shouldered, big hands and feet. It’s like he got caught between two body types and never resolved it either way.

His face is pleasant enough, though, sure; he smiles when he makes eye contact with Ryan, eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Hey,” he answers, and his voice is mellow and nice, too. “New guy?”

The world turns, and shifts back into place. “Yeah. I’m Ryan.” Ryan holds out his hand to shake, because that’s what you do when you’re trying to be professional.

The guy takes a second, glancing down at Ryan’s hand like it’s almost funny, before reciprocating. His hand is a _lot_ bigger, actually, and kind of cold; in LA, though, there’s air conditioning, and even native Californian Ryan is getting goosebumps. “Shane.” He lifts a weirdly arched eyebrow when he lets go. “You know,” he starts, “there are a few new Ryans around. Just to help me put names to faces, you’re Ryan…?”

“Bergara. Only one in LA.” He’d looked it up, once. Even with a super common first name, he can feel unique. Relatively.

Shane grins again, eyes bright and crinkling, and Ryan faintly feels like he’s made a mistake, though he has no idea why. “Nice to meet you, Ryan Bergara,” he says. The name comes out strange; a little drawn out, like he’s testing how it sounds. “Have a seat, we’re desk partners!”

Ryan takes a seat, scooting up to the desk with his feet. “Partners, huh.” He isn’t quite sure he wants to be partners of any kind with Shane. “Are there any other Shanes I should know about, or should I get your last name, too?”

“Oh, nah. Only one of me, baby.” Shane actually _winks_ , and who winks anymore? It’s half again as charming as it is weird, though.

“Don’t call me baby,” Ryan mutters, reaching for his mouse, but he’s smiling despite himself.

Damn it.

(There are no new Ryans, not for a while, either before or after him.

Ryan asks around about it, and he can, because he feels perfectly fine once he leaves his desk.

He is the only Ryan.

When he confronts Shane about it, he simply replies, smoothly, “My mistake, sorry.” And says nothing else.

 _Weird_.)

 

* * *

 

**2\. Don’t take food/gifts.**

 

Ryan’s a guy who likes to eat, sure.

Granted, he’s shit in the kitchen, and he only ever eats takeout, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like food.

It’s just. Elusive.

He’d much rather pay for someone else to do the work and get it back fast enough for him to do his own work. It’s time-saving, he’s helping the economy-- probably-- and most importantly, he’s saving his taste buds.

It’s best for everyone.

So, when Shane comes in one day, with two foil-wrapped burritos instead of one, and plops one of them down on his desk, he’s mostly just grateful.

Though, admittedly, confused.

“Did they give you a mistake burrito on the house, or…?” Ryan can smell it through the silver foil: grilled, marinated meat, onions, peppers. His stomach growls.

“No.” Shane folds back the wrapping on his own burrito, in a weird, tidy way that contrasts severely with the state his desk is usually in. He’s always in some state of contradictions. It’s vaguely annoying. “I got it for you.”

And that’s-- just fucking _wild_.

Ryan’s been interning here for a while, just about as long as Shane.

(He kinda likes it at BuzzFeed, which is never something he thought he’d say, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Over the months, they’ve become friends, kind of; it’s inevitable, when you work in such close proximity for long enough. Not the kind of ‘hey, let’s hang out this weekend’ or ‘let’s go on vacation’ friends, but, you know.

Work friends.

They eat lunch together, sometimes. Swap opinions on edits and articles. Listen to the sheer ridiculousness of the BuzzFeed offices on the daily and share a Look.

It’s nice, but not a serious kind of relationship.

In all that time, over their growing-- bond?-- Ryan has never once brought Shane anything. Whether it’s because he’s a cheapskate, an asshole, or it’s just not something he ever thought of doing, he doesn’t know.

It’s something _actual_ friends do. As far as Ryan knows, that is not what he and Shane are.

But Shane went to Chipotle, ordered himself _and_ Ryan lunch, and brought it to him, like it’s not a big deal at all.

Which, it is, right?

Maybe he’s just over-analyzing a fucking burrito.

Ryan grabs said burrito. “Oh. Thank you, man.”

“Don’t… thank me.” Shane looks uncomfortable when he glances over, but it could be the colossal bite he just took out of his own food. It’s kind of impressive. “Just eat it,” he mumbles through meat and beans.

“Okay?” Weirdo. Ryan pulls back the foil, nowhere near as carefully as Shane had done, and takes a bite.

Chews. Considers. Swallows.

“How’d you know what I like, anyway?” Seriously. It’s everything he could ever want in a burrito. It couldn’t have been better if he’d ordered it, himself.

Shane shrugs a shoulder, but his mouth is turned up on one side in a smirk, and his eyes are bright. “Lucky guess?”

An alarm bell triggers in Ryan’s head; Shane looks entirely too pleased with himself, and it’s _not okay_. “Did you do something to it? Is this a video, or something?” Nervously, he looks around his desk for anything out of place.

There’s nothing different. No one is around, filming. “ _No_ , Ryan, I wouldn’t do something to your lunch,” Shane sighs. “I bought you a burrito because we’re friends, not to prank you. Come on, now.”

Ryan isn’t sure if he believes that at all, but his stomach is begging for _something_ , the burrito _is_ delicious, and, well. It’s kind of rude to refuse a gift, right? “So,” he says, through a mouthful of food, “we’re friends?”

“Considering I just bought you lunch, I sure hope so.” Shane bites into his food, already over halfway gone. Rice tumbles out, falling onto the desk and his jeans, and he doesn’t reach to pick it up. “Be weird, otherwise.”

It’s weird enough, being _actual friends_ with Shane, but Ryan doesn’t voice that thought. He’s too busy scarfing down his burrito.

 

* * *

 

**3\. Always be polite.**

 

Ryan knows his manners, thank you very much.

Sure, sometimes he might come off as a little wild or coarse, with his language and general frat boy sensibilities-- listen, you can make the man graduate from college, but the bro never leaves-- but he’s polite.

He treats strangers well, you know, respectfully speaks with the ghosts he’s trying to contact.

He’s not an asshole.

(“I’m just saying: there’s a mystery aspect to this whole,” Shane waves a hand around, gesturing to the building in entirety, “ghost house, or whatever, but this isn’t True Crime, Ryan. We don’t ever solve things; I think we should let it be a mystery.”

Ryan glares at him from his seat. “And I think you should _shut the fuck up_.”)

He _isn’t_ \--

(“You are such a _dick_ ,” Ryan hisses, yanking open the door to Shane laughing on the other side. “I’m gonna fucking lock you in there and see how you like it.”

“Ryan, you’re fine-- hey!” Shane needs to duck his head and slouch some to even fit in the pantry as Ryan shoves him into it, nearly knocking into the old, dusty shelves. “ _Rude_.”

Ryan slams the door shut on him, locks it, and turns on his heel to leave.

Shane shows back up with him not five minutes later, cobwebbed, dirty, and ever so slightly affronted.

“How’d you get out?”

“You didn’t lock it, Ryan. It wasn’t that hard.”

Ryan distinctly remembers twisting the lock and hearing it click, but something creaks the floorboards upstairs before he can think too much about it.)

Well--

(“Do you think, at your height, that statue up there could fall far enough to do any damage?”

“What the _fuck_ \--”)

Okay, yeah.

That one’s pretty solidly broken; Ryan doesn’t need to go into the whole flashback memory sequence to know that he’s… not exactly the kindest to Shane, sometimes.

It’s not that Ryan hates him at all, despite popular belief. Ryan does _not_ hate Shane, at all, and could confidently list him as one of his best friends. They hang out at each other’s apartments, for fuck’s sake.

Theirs is just the kind of friendship that lends itself well to bickering, both on and off camera. That’s just what they do.

Shane brings up Ryan’s height and goes on at length about how tiny he is; Ryan shoots back that he’s _average height_ , thanks, and at least he’s not an actual Sasquatch, like Shane.

Ryan brings safety equipment to a Bigfoot hunt, because he doesn’t want to die from a massive rock to the head; Shane laughs at him for several minutes and says how stupid he looks.

Shane sardonically warns him about something he ‘witnessed’ during a solo session; Ryan mocks his voice and tells him to shut up.

Ryan jokes about making a voodoo doll of him and throwing it into the ocean, about shooting him even before the zombie virus gets to him, about how Shane’s even dumber than he, himself, is; Shane… doesn’t.

Shit.

It’s always just a bit, of course. He doesn’t actually _mean_ any of it, he’s just going along with the persona, committing to the role he’s carved out for himself whenever they’re in a video together. Even when he says he means it, it’s just for show.

And every single time, Shane turns to him, looking bewildered, a little hurt, a little offended; yeah, that could be Shane’s part of the bit, sure, and he does play up the reaction a little more than he would off-camera, but sometimes it looks just a fraction too genuine to be just part of the act.

He did, after all, not do very well in his improv class.

Ryan tries not to feel too guilty about it. Shane’s a grown man, one who should know by now that on-screen Ryan is different than off-screen Ryan, and is just as able to take an insult as he is to give one.

(He still does feel a little guilty, when he briefly looks through all of their footage before sending it off to be edited; when he isn’t being a jackass, Shane’s actually really complimentary towards him.

And comforting, in a weird, not-super-effective way.

Damn it, now _Ryan’s_ the asshole.)

 

* * *

 

So, yeah.

Ryan’s broken some rules.

And three of them, which is probably very bad.

The paranormal tend to go on three's, right? The Holy Trinity and the witching hour being at three AM and stuff-- hell, you get three strikes in baseball, and when you break other laws, don’t you?

He has three strikes.

If Shane’s some kind of… _thing_ , and not just the weirdest man Ryan’s ever met, then something’s coming for him. He doesn’t know _what_ , but something.

Shane’s the kind of man to create a several season long convoluted mess of a story about anthropomorphic food products and say it was all Ryan’s idea, so--

Maybe that _is_ the punishment.

Dear god.

Well, if that’s the case, then he just won’t break any more. He’s gotten his comeuppance, so as long as he’s good about it from here on out, Shane won’t make the Hot Daga any worse.

Or, god forbid, cook up something else torturous.

He’ll be fine.

 

* * *

 

**+1. Don’t fall for them.**

 

Ryan isn’t fine.

Ryan isn’t fine, because he said he wasn’t going to break any more rules out of fear of retribution.

And now he’s fucking breaking a rule, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

There’s this thing, about spirits and energy and other supernatural beings: they live on a different time scale, with an entirely different moral compass. It’s not a good idea to be involved, even as friends, because-- well, _because_.

Ryan bent that little rule a long time ago, but now it’s completely shattered, because _this is not friendly_.

It’s not.

Friendly is not laughing that much at a joke he makes, even though no one else is laughing, because it isn’t really _that_ funny.

Friendly is not melting whenever he makes a comment and winks, eyes bright and with that stupid grin on his face.

Friendly is not waking up at two AM with pure, cold fear squeezing his chest until he can’t breathe at the very thought of him leaving, voluntarily or otherwise.

And it’s not some big, singular event that does it, either. Realizing that he’s crushing is, for sure, turning into a sleepless night full of _why in the hell is this happening to me_ , but the falling, itself?

That comes over time, when they go on location and do stupid touristy shit when they aren’t trying to make content. It’s sharing food in Point Pleasant on the hunt for the Mothman, it’s dancing the waltz at Dauphine Hotel over the wet pool grounds, it’s scooting in close when they happen to sleep in the Sallie House. It’s making every awful, inappropriate joke they can to see if they can make each other cry laughing, and in sometimes _agreeing_ on a theory, for once. It’s the comfort in brash, reckless words and jibes tempered with gentle, firm reassurance and the promise of popcorn later.

As Ryan watches, Shane’s worming his way further and further into his heart, until every last annoyance is tempered with such fierce fondness that Ryan can’t decide whether to throw something at him or throw _himself_ at him.

Or _both_ , if he can manage it.

Sometimes, sitting with him, whether it be on location, in Ghoul HQ, or at their computers, Ryan will glance over to Shane.

Pfft, _sometimes_. All the time.

But he glances, and sees Shane in profile, from clear glasses because why do something _normal_ for a change, to the stupid habit of twiddling pens and headphone cords between his long fingers, and something in his gut just seizes.

It’s fear, and realization, and the awful growing affection for him, and it makes Ryan feel sick, off-balance. The entire world has jolted, shifted, held upside down and backwards, and the only thing that seems right at all is that Shane is there, with him.

One day, as Ryan’s finally starting to surface from the pit of research he’d thrown himself into for an upcoming season, a second understanding hits him with all the force of a freight train: that feeling isn’t new.

That feeling has been there from day one, the _second_ he stood at his desk and looked down at this guy, headphones on, seemingly ignoring him; every last moment he’s ever spent with Shane has felt like new territory, where he’s always caught off guard, tripping over what he’s trying to say.

For years, Shane has completely turned his perception around on him.

There are three possibilities, conclusions, that Ryan can draw from this:

One, Ryan is completely wrong on the whole ‘not a human being’ angle, and he’s just a crush at first sight kind of guy.

Two, Ryan is completely _right_ , and he’s a crush at first sight kind of guy.

Three, Ryan is right, and also, he doesn’t have a crush at all. Maybe Shane just has some weird, charismatic, charming energy thing that he can do. Ryan never said he was an expert on supernatural powers, okay?

Shane finally looks up at him, hands frozen in place on his keyboard. He must see something concerning in Ryan’s expression, because he raises an eyebrow. “Doing okay, there, Ryan?”

The world locks back into place. Ryan breathes. “Thinking,” he replies, automatically. “About things. You know.”

“Do I? Were you appreciating the scruff I’ve got going on?” He lifts a hand to his chin. “I know I am.”

He does have scruff. Dark hair coating the lower half of his face, trimmed to stay at his jaw, fading up into the smoother skin at his cheeks, not quite enough to really be a beard. Ryan’s looking way too hard, running his eyes over the angles, where the small cleft of his chin should be. “If you grow it out, you could go up north and be a lumberjack. You’ve already got the denim and flannel going on.”

“And contribute to deforestation? Ryan, I would _never_.”

His heart’s pounding, his throat is dry, and the glint in Shane’s eye as he jokes back and forth with him is _real_ , as far as Ryan can tell; whatever he’s feeling, it isn’t because Shane is coercing him, twisting his mind with some trick to make him more agreeable.

Whatever Shane happens to be, whether Ryan is correct in his hunches or not, it doesn’t particularly matter.

What matters is that Ryan _knows_ it’s happening, knows that he’s already in deep, and he’s not trying to stop it.

He doesn’t want to, really; ending such a good thing just because he’s afraid? _That_ doesn’t make any sense.

He’s kind of over being scared of what Shane might do, to be quite honest.

If you’ve already broken the rule, well…

You should suffer the consequences, shouldn’t you?

 

**Author's Note:**

> what even is shane, really
> 
> visit me at https://itsme-yademon.tumblr.com/


End file.
